


To the Dwarrowdelf

by Iron



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: ActualTheif!Bilbo, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cool!Dis, Epic!Treasurehunt, F/M, Kink Meme, M/M, Romance, Sassy!Awesome!Lobelia, Smaugless Erebore, Treasurehunter!Tooks, cross-species romance, sneaky!hobbits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron/pseuds/Iron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tooks are treasure hunters, and they've been looking for the Great Smial for hundred of years. </p>
<p>Bilbo grows up hearing the stories of finding the Great Smial from Belladonna Took. Years later, Bilbo has grown into a respectable hobbit. Then Gandalf comes knocking with news that the Arkenstone, Erebore's greatest treasure, contains a way to find and reach the Smial. </p>
<p>Cue Bilbo and co going on a quest to steal the great treasure of the dwarves (he was going to give it back!) and somehow kidnapping the Prince Thorin in the process. </p>
<p>Yes, this is not his day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Dwarrowdelf

Bilbo was suckled on stories of the Treasure of the Valley of Antheod, and grew up in the belief that one day he would be the one to find the fabled Great Smial of Three. He heard tales from Old Took, and soaked in the ramblings of what the treasure would contain, of great books and scrolls and maps and things, of intricate pipes and arts that have been lost since the Wandering. Bilbo’s dreams are filled with adventure. 

“Bilbo,” Belladonna said, a soft, indulgent smile turning her hard features kind. She tucked a blonde curl behind his ear, kissing his temple softly. He was ensconced in her lap, surrounded by her warmth and sweet smell, and tiredly rubbed at one eye with a pudgy fist. “Bedtime, my sweet.” 

The toddler made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. “Not sleepy, momma,” he said with a huff. “Story time.” 

Belladonna laughed. “Alright, little one. A story, but then bed. No fussing, straight to sleep. Okay?” The boy nodded, and buried his face in her chest. “Aright. Once, long before we came to the Shire, our people lived in the Valley, though its true name was lost long ago. 

There were three families who lived in this valley, and each hated the others with a vehemence unseen now. Forever fighting, they hid their greatest treasures away, in a place unknown. It may have stayed that way, if not for the Great Beast. A tragedy befell the Valley, and the three families came together, forced to fight alongside each other for the safety of their home. 

When the beast fell beneath the swords of Fallohide, Harfoot, and Stoor, it came to pass that the three families became one, and named themselves holbytla. They built a great home for all, one that stretched immense over the valley, and named it The Great Smial of Three. There they placed the great treasures of the families, to be shared and appreciated by all of the newly named holbytla. 

And, until the Wæfre, they stayed so, until the Three became One.” 

Bilbo looked up at her then, rosebud mouth twisted in a frown. “But what about the Arweiniad? When does that come into the story, momma?” The young mother looked down at her son, and a great sadness filled her eyes. It was the same sadness that arose when she spoke of the Wæfre – old, but too deep and too great to heal. 

“Later, my seedling. When the scars of battle have healed, and there is once more love in the hearts of the hobbits.” 

“Oh.” He nodded, eyelids drooping closed. “Okay, momma.” 

And he slept. 

\--

 

For a very, very long time, Bilbo searched for the treasure. He does not do it the way the Tooks in the past have, for he is a Baggins and Baggins are sensible, thank you very much!, in the way that he does not go gallivanting through the country chasing after every rumor he hears. But he is also a Took, and all Tooks, for as long as any one person can remember, have searched for the Great Smial of Three. 

A year after his majority, he gives up his search. He has responsibilities now, as the Master of Bag End, and while the urge to adventure, to find the lost treasure, is sometimes all consuming he no longer makes plans to leave. 

He is the closest a Took has ever gotten to finding the Smial when he becomes a respectable hobbit. Every Took in the Shire is disappointed when he stops. They were so sure that he would find it, when Belladonna had found lost troll caves and her grandfather dragon’s hoards, . Bilbo is something special, and they mourn in their strange way the lost talents of what could have been the greatest treasure hunter in the history of the Shire. 

But he is respectable now, and only studies his maps for hobbies, and watches the others go off with no little envy on his face. 

And then, three years the Master of Bag End, Bilbo Baggins decides to go on an Adventure. 

(At least, that’s what he tells everyone) 

\--

 

Bilbo sat outside his hobbit-hole, leaning up against the grassy side of his hill. It was a fine day, the sun shining bright and warm over head, and the scantest breezes rusting through the trees. Fat, heavy bumblebees filled the air with their rolling drone, drawn by the heady scent of spring flowers in full bloom. His pipe fit comfortingly between his lips, sweet Longbottom smoke filling his lungs with every inhale. 

He basked in the quiet of the day. 

“Bilbo Baggins!” A shadow cast itself over the hobbit, and with great reluctance – for he recognized the voice from his childhood, and it was not one welcomed by any respectable hobbit in the Shire – looked up. And up. And up. 

Increment by increment, he took in the wizard who stood before him. Black boots, thick soled and cracked, which led to grey pants and a great tattered cloak, also grey. His beard, tucked into his belt, was white. Around his neck he had wrapped a silver scarf, and perched on his head was a pointed blue hat. “Good morning,” Bilbo said, for his father had taught him to be polite. 

The wizard frowned at him, bushy brows shadowing a weathered face. “What do you mean?” he said. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it to be or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?” 

“All of them at once,” Bilbo said, and was delighted a little at the play of words. Lobelia had not seen fit to visit him in several days, and he had found himself quite bored. “And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the bargain. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have a fill of mine! There’s no hurry, we have all day before us!” And then he blew himself a very pretty smoke ring, and watched it float up, into the sky, over the hills and out of sight. 

“Very pretty!” said Gandalf, “But I have no time smoke rings. I am looking for someone to search for a great treasure with me, and it is very difficult to find anyone to do so with me.” 

Bilbo gave him a queer-eyed look, disbelieving. “The Tooks would quite gladly go on your hunt,” he said. “They are treasure hunters all, and none would deny themselves an Adventure.” 

Gandalf, for that was the wizard’s name, smiled wider. “Ah, but it is not a Took that I need, my dear Bilbo, but a Baggins. And the only adventurous Baggins I know lives right here. Now, my boy, will you go on this Adventure with me?” 

The hobbit frowned, and took a puff from his pipe, and then, mind made up, stood. “Good morning, but I believe that you would have more luck over The Hill, or across the Water.” 

“What a very many things you use good morning for – “ 

“Oh,” the high, rough voice of Lobelia Bracegirdle came from over his gate. “Just come off it, Wizard. And you too, you sour git.” She pushed through the gate, upturned nose high in the air and a basket swung over her arm. “We all know you want to go on a treasure hunt, and if I’m right, it’s the treasure you silly Tooks have been hunting since me great-grand-mam was but a twinkle in her mothers eye!” Settling the basket higher on her arms, she closed her umbrella, today's used as a parasol, with a rustle of water treated clothe. 

She did not have the grace to look ashamed at her interruption, even under the wizard’s great glower. “Now, and you cannot deny this truth, you are a rather horrible Baggins, at the core of things. You yearn for adventure as a dwarf for gold, and that damnable Smial thrice that much.” With a humph she settled herself where Bilbo had been sitting not a moment before. “Of course, you will be taking me and Otho with you.” 

He opened his mouth to protest, only to close it with a clack at her look. “…Of course.” 

Lobelia smiled, snake-like, and handed the wizard a honey cake from her basket. “Good. Now, we will be leaving at exactly ten, Bilbo, and I expect you to be ready then. If you are not, I will be quite cross, you see, and quite possibly might leave without you.” Nodding to herself, she stood again, and handed him a honey cake. “Now, I must take my leave, good sirs, but I will be back for supper, to iron out the details of our venture.” And she took her leave. 

It was several minutes before either of them spoke. “Well,” Gandalf said, and if he were not a Wizard Bilbo would say he was quite flabbergasted. “Well.” 

Bilbo leaned his head back and laughed. 

 

\--

 

Later that night, the Wizard, the Baggins, the Bracegirdle and Sackville-Baggins sat around Bilbo’s dining room table. Dinner was quite over with, and Supper would not be for some time, and so they began their Plan. A map, large and quite beautiful, covered the table. 

“Now,” said Gandalf, sucking on his unlit pipe. He would rather much like to light it, but the hobbit lass had given him such a look when he had tried that he was happy to abstain. “We will need to sneak into the Mountain through a secret path-”

“Why?” Otho asked. He was not the brightest of folks, Otho, but he saw things in a straight forward manner that could be quite useful at times. Such as now. “I reckon these dwarf folk have never seen a hobbit before, and it wouldn’t be no trouble to convince them we was something magic-like. Just say we was important, or talk about opening trade to the Shire, and I think they’ll take us right in.” 

Gandalf glowered. “Because that is not how things are done, Mister Otho.” 

“And why not?” Otho was more than slightly drunk. Otherwise, he would not have found the bravery to speak out against the wizard. 

“Because they are not!” He snapped. 

No one spoke for several tense moments. “I agree with Lotho,” Lobelia said. Her voice was loud in the suddenly quiet room. She brought the fine red wine to her lips, and sipped it delicately. “I see no reason to sneak into a mountain for a silly stone when I could just as easily walk in, Wizard. There is no need to make something more difficult than it has to be.” 

She tapped at another paper on the table, looking smug. “If what you say is true, that Stoor gave the Arweiniad to the dweohrs, then they might know of us as we are. But if they do not, and so much time has past they may well not, then I propose we walk in not as hobbits, but as Men. Children, to be exact.” She settled in her seat, and refilled her glass. “I have been to Bree recently, and even with the hobbits living there the Men could barely tell me apart from one of their children – why, there must have been three separate times I was asked if I were looking for my mother!” Indignation colored her voice. 

Bilbo and Otho agreed quickly, and for more than fear of her wrath. Neither of them were truly thieves, but they were barely out of majority, and it would be far easier to fake youth than sneak in through a hidden door. 

The wizard’s frown was thunderous, but he assented. “Then we will go in through the front gates. And you will be ... children.” He said. Gandalf wished he could light his pipe. It would make the entire lot of them easier to deal with. 

“Good!” Bilbo piped up. “Then why don’t we move along to Supper? We can draw up supplies and the like over some roast chicken.” Nodding to himself, and much hoping to stave off the explosion he could see coming miles away. 

It was, quite unfortunately, a lost cause. 

\--

 

Morning saw them meeting at the edge of Hobbiton, laden down by heavy packs and a single pony- Lobelia’s, named ‘Dandy’ – walking sticks in hand. Primly, the only lass of them opened her umbrella, and with smile on her face forged ahead. 

Behind her, the other men shivered. It was not a pleasant smile. 

“...Do you think she’ll let us stop for elevenses?” Otho whispered to Bilbo. They had already been forced to skip Second Breakfast, and both hobbits were hungry. 

Bilbo stared incredulously at him. “No. Because Bracegirdles are crazy.” Lobelia is too busy dragging a wet stone over the pyramid top of her spare umbrella, sharpening the steel with a smile on her face, to listen to the two hobbits gossip. 

They do not, in fact, stop for elevenses. Or Afternoon Tea. Or, even, Luncheon. They eat the Midday Meal walking, bread stuffed with cheese and cured meats, and by the time they reach Bree night had fallen some time ago, and the hobbits could barely see the path. “We’ll stop here for the night,” Lobelia said as they passed an inn. She glared imperiously at them, daring them to say otherwise. “Gone by first morn’s light, you hear? No later than that.” 

The two hobbits and a wizard didn’t disagreed. Pushing their way into the crowded in, Gandalf paid for the room and four bowls of steaming stew and bread. Bilbo chose their seats, partly because Lobelia favoured sitting near the drafty windows and partly because he felt the need to make at least one decision of his own, and Lotho trailed behind them, listening to the bards singing by the fireplace. “A rather bad singer,” he said through a mouthful of stew. Otho was a good tell of these things; he was one of the best singers in the Shire, and had a good ear for these things. 

“Would you like to give it a try?” Lobelia asked, not cruelly, but not kindly, either. “Show these Big People how it’s done in the Shire.” A glint of mischief entered Otho’s eyes, and he clambered to his feet. 

The three hobbits slipped through the crowd of Men, until they stood before the bard. “Good sir,” Bilbo said, tapping him lightly in the shoulder. “We would like to sing a song, if you may play us a tune to go along with it.” He was painfully polite, too aware that if his companions were to speak they ran the chance of being run out of Dale. 

The bard was a jovial folk, with a weathered face and receding, graying hair. “Of course, my small friends,” he said. “Now, what tune would you like me to play for you tonight?” He strummed lightly on his lyre, fingers pulling sweet notes from the strings. He was a much better player than singer. 

Otho took the lead. He tilted his head to the left, and looked up through his bangs, a deceptively sweet smile on his face. It was the look he used to used to get extra cookies during Afternoon Tea, and it worked well. “Do you know the tune to A Dwarf’s Bane?” He asked, smiling coyly. The bard must have been a usual in Berk, as he didn’t falter at the hobbit song. 

“Of course, m’lad. A fine song that is, yes.” Smiling, the old musician strummed the strings, and the hobbits joined in with their singing. 

“Home is gone,  
Behind hills and trees.  
The night is young,  
Come away with me.

“Mountain, strong,  
Long behind our feet,  
I keen and long  
For lover’s kiss.

“The moon is high  
Over head  
The embers die  
The leaves are dead

“Winter is nigh  
You’ll so leave for your bed,  
Into the mountain high  
On your throne I would die.

“My love I leave,  
I cannot stay  
Your Mountain  
Is not my place

“My love I leave,  
My love will leave,  
Till winter’s end  
I cannot stay.”

 

As their voices faded, they were met with the curious eyes of a shadowed man sitting not too far from them. Behind him the fire roared, crackling as another log was set into it. “What song is that?” He asked. There was a long bow slung across his back, and a full quiver by his hip. 

It is Bilbo who spoke, both less suspicious and less hostile than Otho and Lobelia. “A Dwarf’s Bane – it’s older than the Shire, our home, and just as beloved. There is …” He paused, thinking. “I think there are three hundred verses, and four more songs besides, denoting the love story of Stoor and a Dwarf. Stoor gave his heart to the Dwarf, or so the story goes, and in his foolishness gave away the Guide back to his home, in a show of devotion. The Dwarf stole it, and Stoor died. It was all a great tragedy, really, and hobbit mothers sing it to their fauntlings as a warning.” 

He smiled wistfully. “Always thought it rather romantic myself, if sad.” 

The man is silent. Otho is still hungry, and so he and Lobelia head back to their seat. “Heard a song like that, once,” the man said. “I was staying a stint in the halls of Erebor, and a couple of the warriors were singing it. Something like it, rather, but similar enough,” he shrugged, “Called it The Death of Something or Rather. Weren’t paying to much attention, rightly.” 

Bilbo was interested. He’d always found the other Races to be fascinating – and rightly so, being as they didn’t meet them too often in the Shire – and their long old ties doubly so. “How was it different?” He asked, and clambered into the seat next to the man. He shrugged. 

“I don’t know either well enough to say.” 

The hobbit tried not to look too disappointed. “Oh. Ah, if you live so far east, what are you doing here? I didn’t think the Shire or Bree really has much to offer in the way of business.” 

Face still shadowed, it was only by how Bilbo was looking that he could tell the man looked wistful. “Good place for hiding,” he said. “Good place for getting lost in.” 

Bilbo nodded, and, feeling acutely that their conversation was over, he left. 

Sleep did not come so easily that night.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt on the hobbit kink meme, but because I can't really get on it, I'm posting it here. 
> 
> So because I’m a nitpicker, I’m using a ton of references for this. For the map of Hobbiton, go here: http://www.danielreeve.co.nz/archive2.php, and here for the Rohirrin words: http://www.killermovies.com/forums/archive/index.php/t-320239-anglo-saxon-translated-rohirric.html. 
> 
> So, the song is completely mine. I wrote it to the sort-of tune of Pippin’s Song. 
> 
> I hope you like it, OP!  
> Next one should be up in a few days


End file.
